The Riddle at Thirty-Seven

Elena stared at the **vitamin** supplements arranged in military precision on her kitchen counter — Vitamin D for the bone-deep fatigue she couldn't shake, B-complex for the stress that woke her at 3 AM, magnesium for the muscles that stayed knotted even after yoga. Forty dollars a month, and she still felt like she was aging in fast-forward.

Her **hair** had started coming out in clumps three months ago — thin, brittle strands that clogged the shower drain like accusations. Now she wore it pulled back severe, exposing the fine lines around her mouth that deepened whenever Marcus looked at his phone instead of her.

"We need to talk about the **cable** bill," he'd said last night, not looking up from his spreadsheet. Their entire marriage had become a series of transactional conversations about bills and schedules and whose turn it was to walk the dog.

She'd gone to the university library instead of home after work, seeking refuge in dusty stacks. That's where she'd found it — the riddle of the **sphinx**, translated from papyrus fragments: *What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?* Man. The answer was always man, and the answer was always about time running out.

Now Elena sat at the edge of the community center pool, toes skimming the chlorinated water. **Swimming** had been Marcus's idea. "You need a hobby," he'd said, like she was a problem to be solved. But here, slipping beneath the surface where the world went muffled and silent, she could almost remember who she'd been before becoming someone's wife, someone's mother, someone's disappointment.

The lifeguard blew the whistle. Lap swim was ending.

Elena pulled herself from the water, her body heavy and buoyant all at once. In the locker room mirror, she studied her reflection — hair plastered to her skull, eyes hard and bright. The answer to the riddle wasn't man. The answer was memory, how it haunted you, how you carried it forward on whatever legs remained.

She texted Marcus: *I'm not coming home tonight.*

Then she deleted it, threw the vitamins in the trash, and walked out into the cooling dark.